


Historical Precedence

by VoiDreamer



Category: Star Trek
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoiDreamer/pseuds/VoiDreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please, John." Her words were more potent than a hundred torpedoes could ever hope to be. Two words, twisting in anguish, confusion and fear, uttered into the darkness. He knew he had no other choice. He surrendered. A look into the eight months between a man from the past, and a woman who had, in another life, been part of his future. Slight AU. Khan/Marla McGivers</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Discovery

McCoy muttered under his breath as he waited for the lift down to the weapons bay, cursing his orders even as his body went about obeying them. The mission to deactivate the single torpedo had left him wary of all weapons for the foreseeable future and it would have been all too soon if Bones never had to see another one of those blasted things again.  
It figured that the green-blooded robot that passed for first officer on Enterprise would ask he deactivate the remaining 71.  
“Pointy-eared bastard.”   
Muttering all the louder, he punched the button for the weapons bay and exhaled slowly, glaring ineffectually at the screen that illustrated his progress through the ship. Steady hands be damned, his mind was a scattered mess.  
“Forward bulkhead ruptured, we need a repair team there stat!”  
Stepping onto the 4th deck was like walking through a war zone in and of itself, everywhere cords sparked, metal groaned, and the crew of the Enterprise struggled to make sense of what had once been a state-of-the-art starship.  
“What is engineering doing?!” The shouting could barely be heard over the sounds of a dying ship, “We’re venting oxygen into space – someone close that hole!”  
Survival was the whip that drove the crew, the grim specter of death hanging all too close for anyone to dare give up now.   
Teeth set in a deep grimace, McCoy passed by man and machine alike as he made a beeline for the weapons locker, dodging fire and shrapnel before he finally got to the reinforced hold that contained the remaining torpedoes.   
Punching the communication panel, the doctor grimaced as the image of his second-in-command appeared; the man’s face pale but resolved.  
“Ellis, I’m going to need a team to meet me down here in ten with all the emergency kits we can spare.”  
“Yes sir.”  
“And don’t make me repeat myself!” McCoy was off not a moment later, pulling the heavy levers that released the plate door. It barely budged.   
“I’m a doctor, not a damn strong man.” Grunting with effort, he threw his shoulder against the widest part of it and pushed until he was sure he was about to burst a blood vessel, “Where are those electronic release keys when you need them?”  
He was rewarded for his tenacity a second later when the door finally budged, swung slowly on its hinges to reveal the glittering fuselages of the torpedoes. Untouched by the destruction, it seemed ironic that these tools of warfare were the most ‘at peace’ beings aboard the ship.   
But the time to muse on life’s little twists was long gone, and McCoy quickly stepped into the room to prepare. He had lost too much time already, and so the minute his team arrived the mission to recover Khan’s people began in earnest.   
Time rushed forwards then, a collection of steps in which torpedoes were deactivated; cryo-tubes were pulled free and set up with all the proper medical monitoring equipment.  
Each torpedo was a little different, a different face in the tube’s icy hold, each one of them a stranger from a different time, a different era of humanity.   
Jim had told him about Khan, about his origin in the midst of the Eugenics War; a time of great conflict. McCoy had never been a great student of history, but had heard enough about the Eugenics period to know that the man known as Khan had been a rather strange exception to the rule. A peacekeeper, amidst war mongers. Not, Bones amended, that Khan hadn’t been fully capable of mass destruction, but in a land of tyrants he had been one of the better ones.   
His frowned as he approached the final torpedo, his mind wandering for a moment to the face of a woman he had not seen since graduating; Rhue McGivers, Starfleet Researcher and avid art historian. She had been the history buff, not him. And it had been she who had regaled him with the colorful narratives of the Eugenics war, of a man named Khan and the kingdom he had ruled over. Who could have guessed their late night delves into the past would prove insightful now?  
It made him wonder how she would have dealt with the situation had she been aboard.   
Opening the power conduit on the side, McCoy returned to the work at hand, relying on muscle memory as he tapped the release mechanism and eased the power out of the torpedo’s side. Not ten minutes later he released the final two catches and watched as the top panel slid smoothly off.   
And though he had thought of her not minutes earlier the face that greeted him from beneath the icy surface of the cryo-tube made him stop short, his inhale sharp as the breath caught in this throat. The glint of embroidery on her chest told him what he already knew, Lieutenant Marla ‘Rhue’ McGivers, friend and colleague was there in one of Khan’s tubes.  
The only question was why.

* * * * * *

Marla ‘Rhue’ McGivers returned to consciousness with a snap, fear flooding her eyes with tears as she screamed.  
“JOHN WATCH OUT BEHIND YOU!”  
Her hand shot out toward where she had last seen him and grasped nothing but air, hand passing through the phantom shadow of the man she loved. Sobbing, she tried to make sense of her surroundings, floundered in a sea of light and dark before they slowly solidified into more recognizable forms.  
Starfleet issue emergency cots, the low ceilings of a security bunker, and there, backlit against a pile of what looked like torpedoes were three Starfleet officers. She inhaled raggedly, tried to inhale with lungs that were tight in panic in fear. Lurching into a sitting position, she groaned as her muscles ached from disuse, rendering her stuck between repose and sitting.   
The world swam until she closed her eyes, forced herself to push more air into lungs that may as well have been trying to pull oxygen from the vacuum of space.   
“Easy there, Lieutenant.”  
There was the momentary press of cold metal against her neck, a beep as it dispensed something into her trembling body.  
“Just give it a minute and you’ll be ok.”  
A hand, warm and comforting rested on back, pulled a blanket around her before gently clasping her shoulder. Steady, warm the presence was reassuring.   
“It’s good to see you, McGivers.”  
She recognized the voice then, had spent enough time talking to him as a friend and student to know his particular twang anywhere.  
“Bones?”  
“The very same.”  
She opened her eyes as she turned towards him, pushing her hair out of her eyes with a hand that still shook. Her muscles still ached, but whatever he had given her had eased the worst of it. Steadying herself with the knowledge that she was safe, however momentarily, Rhue smiled.   
“It’s good to see you.”   
He responded in kind though he did look a little more worn around the edges.  
“Where are we?” She had no idea how long she had been out, had no idea where she was but she was going to find out.  
“Security bunker of the Enterprise.”  
“The Enterprise?” She was familiar with the starship but to be actually on it was a complete break with where she had been when last she had been conscious. Examining her surroundings with a new eye she glanced around. Clearly the ship was under attack, or at least, recently had been. Debris was everywhere and the wounded were clustered together beneath the watchful eye of a medic or two. And there in the corner were the cryo-tubes, carefully lined up and illuminated by spot lights. Rhue felt her throat tighten in recognition; she had been in one of those not so long ago.   
“What’s the stardate?”  
She braced herself for the answer, but when McCoy rattled it off Rhue felt herself slump in relief. Same stardate, she had barely lost any time at all it seemed. But then she remembered John, remembered her last moments of consciousness.  
Her hand went to her side and felt for a wound that was now nothing more than a scar.   
“McGivers?”  
“It’s nothing.” She shook her head slightly and winced as her head thundered from the movement, “Fill me in. What’s going on?”  
“Earth was attacked a few days ago by a man,” McCoy hesitated, “He called himself John Harrison.”  
“John?” She looked around, searching, before it dawned on her, “He’s the one attacking the ship?”  
“Yeah.”  
McCoy pulled the mobile communication unit closer to where she was seated and she watched the incoming transmission.   
“That’s him,” her eyes widened as she leaned over the screen, lips thinning as she heard the broadcast, “That’s John.”  
Bones grimaced as she touched the display, he didn’t want to tell her the truth but it didn’t seem right to let her live a fiction when reality was about to slam shut their lives, “He’s not who he says he is.”   
“Then you know he’s Khan.” She all but whispered the words then turned towards him as a thought occurred to her, “Did Admiral Marcus finally play his hand?”  
“How do you know about that?”  
She didn’t answer so much as smile again, tilting her head towards where Khan’s expression had morphed into one of cold resolution, “He looks just like the history books said he would.”  
And then her smile faded as she stood, forced upright by strength of will.  
“Now, just wait a second.”  
“I can’t.” She shook her head, “Someone has to tell him to stop. To tell him we’re all ok.”   
“Rhue, he’s not a person who can be reasoned with. He’s a weapon, a calculating killer.”  
“He’s a man.” Rhue replied stubbornly, “And more than that, he’s a good man.”   
She took several steps, weaving uneasily on her feet as she tried to cross to the edge of the bunker. But as the ship took a sharp turn, she stumbled, slammed her shoulder against the doorframe with enough force to wrench a sharp groan from her lips.  
“Damn it, McGivers.”  
McCoy was at her side in an instant, wrapping a protective blanket around her shoulders.  
“Someone has to stop him, Bones.”   
Face set in determination she looked him in the eye before she pushed away from the door, staggered a few more feet to where the emergency lift was waiting.  
“Please. Help me save this ship.”

* * * * * *

The alert system was going crazy, the red lights flashing and adding more noise to a bridge that was already a mess of straining metal and electronic explosions.   
Uhura did her best to remain calm, but couldn’t quite help the way her hands shook with the adrenaline her body was producing in such copious amounts. Her fight or flight instincts had kicked in hard this time, and it took all her focus to remain calm, to remember her training and try to get ahold of Starfleet Headquarters down on Earth. The Enterprise was in desperate need of backup, and only she was equipped to send for it.  
“Spock!”  
Dr. McCoy appeared from the turbo lift looking harried but otherwise ok. At his side was a woman Uhura couldn’t say she had ever seen before, the face pale beneath a mop of fiery hair. There was a blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders, but it was the flash of Starfleet insignia on her chest that drew her interest.   
She knew her studies enough to identify Starfleet’s Archival Studies Department, but what an unknown archivist was doing on Enterprise was baffling to say the least.   
“Doctor?”  
Spock noted their new addition with interest, though his eyes never left the view screen where the huge battle cruiser loomed overhead.   
“We need to talk to Khan.” McCoy spoke for them both apparently.   
“I assume this has something to do with our guest, doctor?”  
The doctor helped the woman towards the center of the bridge, “Yeah, something like that.”  
“And this woman is someone we can trust?”  
Uhura noted that in this the doctor remained tellingly silent, and the woman made no move to defend herself. Indeed the mysterious woman capable of very little as she rocked unsteadily on her feet, gaze had remained firmly fixed on the viewing screen since she had first appeared.   
But before Spock had time to dismiss them the Enterprise was hailed. No one had to ask who it was, and Khan’s face appeared on the view screen not a moment later, his expression resolute.  
“So, do we have an agreement, Commander?”  
His voice, bitingly cold with its British lilt, demanded an answer. And though Spock had opened his mouth to speak, the stranger was faster. Deceptively soft, her voice carried over the noise and reached the one man who seemed to hold their fate in his hands.   
“John.”   
She said just the one word. One small word that seemed so entirely inadequate for the situation that it was laughable.   
Uhura had no idea what the woman hoped to accomplish by so simple a plea. Indeed, the stranger seemed oblivious to the tension at hand, had no idea of the gravity of the situation. But there was something in the manner of speak that made Uhura pause, something the xenolinguist knew was more than just syntax.  
It resonated with the stranger, that small word; like a finely tuned string vibrated at the perfect pitch, those specific words spoken by that specific woman meant more than they seemed.   
“Please, John.”  
“What are you doing there?!”  
His attention was on the stranger in an instant. His attention centered exclusively on the woman who stood there pale-faced and trembling.   
Khan seemed aghast, and for a moment Uhura was reminded of Admiral Marcus when he had made a similar discovery. But where the admiral had turned from surprise to enraged fury, Khan reacted very differently.  
“Have they hurt you?”  
There was a quiet rumbling of temper though Uhura couldn’t say if it was towards the woman or directed to the crew that surrounded her. And his face, once austere had tightened, expression almost stricken as he continued to watch their guest struggle to remain upright.  
“Trust me, John.”   
They were the last words she spoke before it happened; the unthinkable.  
Khan surrendered.


	2. 02 - The Meeting (John)

"Please, John."

He had never expected to see her again, and perhaps that was why her presence was all the more shocking now. He had looked for her everywhere, but Marcus had known him too well, had kept her as a trump card.

He didn't know if he could trust her anymore, but he had promised himself that if the situation ever arose he would do as she asked, this time, if just to make up for his most spectacular mistake. Neither of them could really look the other in the eye anymore, and that was  _his_ fault.

Her words were more potent than a hundred torpedoes could ever hope to be, and they both knew it. She had always been his weakness. There was no ignoring her words, twisting in anguish, confusion and fear, uttered into the darkness. He knew he had no other choice.

He would trust her with his life; he owed her at least that much.

And so he did the only thing he could, he surrendered.

* * *

Eight Months Earlier:

He had woken to an alien world, an Earth that he no longer recognized. Gone were the wars, the leadership of kings and the eugenics programs that had bred the next evolution of humanity. Instead, he found the world teaming with all manner of alien species and a human race that knew of Augments only as relics of a history not soon to be repeated.

And where he had once been a prince among men, he found himself now little more than a slave, a pet brain for a Starfleet Admiral with an ambition that far outweighed his actual abilities. It was infuriating, but more than that, it was agonizing, to be so painfully alone when he had lived a life surrounded by friends and loyal vassals.

Admiral Marcus had made it clear what he expected, and Khan swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat. The man was supposed to be a leader, and Khan was disappointed to find a war monger instead. Every fiber of his being protested the use of his intellect for the petty means that Marcus demanded. Every second in that man's office was a struggle against his very biology, to fight the instincts that all too easily pointed the weaknesses of the man's security, the exposed points of his all-too-soft physique. He could have done a hundred different things, could have exploited even the smallest error, to send the man careening into the next life.

More than once he had imagined how it would be to reach across that metal desk and choke Marcus until his face turned purple. The thought still made his hands tremble with wanting, and Khan curled them into fists as he walked out the door.

He exhaled slowly, deliberately as he fought the compulsion, willing intellect to win over the overwhelming emotional urge to be free of such barbaric chains. Because there  _were_ chains that kept him tied to this tyrant. Seventy-two delicate chains kept him tethered, chains that he was desperate not to break.

His crew.

His  _family_.

Marcus had them hidden somewhere, had threatened to kill them if Khan made one move against him, though the Admiral had been very particular in saying nothing of Starfleet itself.

It was, Khan knew, why he found himself on his way to plant a particularly damning piece of evidence on one of Admiral Marcus' political enemies, his long stride carrying him easily through the rows of manuscripts and statuary that made up Starfleet's Archives.

How strange that this building would serve as both bane and balm to his existence.

The front for Starfleet Intelligence, it symbolized everything he had come to hate about this life he was now forced to lead. Every book and richly worded manuscript nothing but a mask for the coldly calculating department of secrets, its very existence hinged on a lie.

And  _that_ was something Khan could not stand. He had been a prince, a leader and even at times a warrior. But never had he been a coward, a  _liar;_  the fact that he had to mask his very name made the anger fester all the deeper.

Pausing in the back of a dusty row of books, Khan plucked one from its place and sighed in pleasure at the tactile presence of the tome in his hand. This, at least, was familiar.

It had taken Khan little over two weeks to read all literature on the history of humanity since his flight on the Botany Bay. Newspapers, novels, letters, anything that could be read were consumed with the voracious hunger of one who had nothing and no one to distract him.

The pages had brought him the only sort of pleasure he had managed to scrape out of this new existence.

Replacing the book, Khan quietly studied its companions before turning once more towards the exit. Caught between nostalgia and a bitter acceptance, he had only just rounded the corner when reality came rushing back in a confusing explosion of noise, books and papers as he was sent sprawling backwards.

He had run in to someone.

It was the first time he had ever done so.

Living in a world of genetically enhanced reflexes and super human perception had meant that to touch a person took deliberate thought and exacting action. And Khan had never, in the entirety of his life, literally run into another person before; nor had anyone ever run into him

It seemed that in this case, both had occurred simultaneously.

And though, logically, he should have recovered faster than the human he had collided with, he looked up to find a hand offered in aid. A delicate and well-manicured hand, it looked more suited to anything but helping him get to his feet, but it was offered all the same, another first.

Khan took it, and found the hand to be stronger than it looked, steady as it helped him stand upright. It was then that he finally got a good look at the person attached to that very feminine hand.

She was a pretty thing, he noted absently, not beautiful by any means but she appealed to him on a different level, her mused hair and slightly crooked glasses unapologetically imperfect, honest.

"I am  _so_  sorry."

Straightening the glasses on her nose, she flushed a little when straightened the coat on his shoulders, brushed the hair from his eyes, "I really should have been looking where I was going. It's been a crazy morning."

"Indeed?" He agreed with a halfhearted-smile, "Just the morning?"

She laughed then, and the warm sound easily filled the spacious hall, "No, I suppose it's been going on longer than that. This term has been busier than most."

"You are…" He looked at her uniform, "In the Academy?"

"Yes," And then she paused, shaking her head ruefully, "Well, sort of. I  _teach_  there."

"I see."

He enjoyed the way her cheeks flushed, the way her eyes drifted shyly towards her feet and away. His upbringing and life during the Eugenics war meant that he was forever examining every action as a potential threat, a prelude to an attack. But with this woman it seemed she posed so little a threat that even his most sensitive instincts had quieted.

Perhaps under different circumstances he might have been disconcerted, but instead he found this total absence of suspicion intriguing, exciting.

There was still plenty of room to hate Marcus and to plan the slow and painful manner in which Khan would kill him, but for this single moment he was diverted.

Another first, another experience he could not have had without her.

And he didn't even know her name.

He chuckled as he bent down to retrieve one of the numerous papers that lay scattered around them.

"I take it these papers are all yours?"

His eyes scanned the text as his brain quickly made sense of the material. It was about the Eugenics War, how interesting. Looking around, he went about gathering them until she appeared at his side once more, the rest of the work in her arms.

"I appreciate your help, really."

"It was not a problem."

"Still," she sighed, "I can't apologize enough, I've been scatterbrained for weeks and it's been getting worse."

"Oh so you run into people on a regular basis?" He grinned then, enjoyed the rush as he teased her and oh so easily drew that pretty blush back on her face.

"Oh no, I think you're a rather special case." She responded back with another sweetly unassuming smile as she straightened the stack of papers on a nearby table.

She extended her hand a moment later.

Another offering, another opening, Khan once more found himself analyzing the gesture; the tactical weaknesses of her exposed flank, the opening she left to the soft skin of her arms, both would deal with her quickly, to say nothing of his other advantages. He could act on it if he wished, but there was a difference between a man and a weapon, and this time he chose to be the man.

For her, he would always choose to be the man.

"Let me introduce myself properly," She asserted kindly, her face open and entirely without artifice, "My name is Marla McGivers."

"Marla."

He spoke the word as he extended his hand, repeated steadily.

"My friends call me 'Rhue'."

This time the smile was on his lips.

"Rhue."

Charming in its brevity, Khan repeated her name and felt the sound of it as a rumble in his chest, tasted it on his tongue; strange and yet so very sweet, almost honeyed.

He extended his hand towards her own, jerking in surprise when her hand gently curled around his larger fingers. Delicate and trusting she placed her hand in his own without reservation, never knowing what he had done with those hands, what he  _could_  do.

"It is a pleasure to meet you." He said softly, "My name is John Harrison."

Her eyes, so large and framed by dark lashes, glittered in the darkness and she smiled back.

"The pleasure is all mine."

 


	3. The Meeting (Rhue)

She refused to leave.

They had left her waiting there for hours, but nothing was going to make her move. She was not a particularly stubborn woman, but in this there was no changing her mind. She needed to know he was ok, and with trust being what it was, she needed to see him for herself.

Rhue only wished her body would be as resolute as her mind. Already fatigue had forced her into one of the upholstered lobby chairs, and her eyes burned from overstimulation, as if they too were on the cusp of betraying her.

"McGivers?"

She looked up to see Bones; his face lined with exhaustion, and motioned for him to sit beside her. He did so with a soft groan, his long frame expanding outwards as his body went limp in relief.

She tilted her head to look at him, flinching at the tension in her neck, ""I take it Captain Kirk is doing well?"

He nodded, grabbing the water bottle she had left on the table between them and taking a long drink, "Yeah, the transfusion worked, it was a hell of a close call though."

Nodding silently, Rhue glanced again at the door that led to the high-security wards. Nothing had changed in the few seconds she had looked away, and this time she wasn't even surprised.

And because he had come to know her every little mood McCoy cracked open an eye, "What's up kiddo?"

She smiled thinly, "They haven't let me in to see him yet."

They both eyed the guards, took in the heavy weapons and protective plating they wore. Neither one could blame them for taking precautions, but Rhue couldn't quite swallow her resentment either. John was _not_ a bad man.

"Do you think they'll let me see him at all?"

She whispered the words, stricken, caught between the desire to hear the kind words of a friend and the need to know his honest opinion. Terrified that whatever answer she received would be the one that obliterated what small flickering hope she had left.

Bones merely sighed and offered her the water bottle.

"I hope so, kiddo."

* * *

Twelve Months Earlier:

She had been working for Starfleet's Research Division for little more than a month when she was called upstairs. And while others might have smiled at the _honor_ , at the _prestige_ of being called to talk about their work, Rhue knew better.

It made her nervous, going there. Riding the elevator seemed to take a light-year and every imagined jostle of the lift made her heart jump into her throat.

The summons to the Admiral's Office had not been descriptive in the least, and even now, as she walked down the empty hall and passed the rooms of superior officers she could not understand what she was doing here.

But whatever it was, whatever Admiral Marcus had to say, Rhue doubted it would be pleasant. He had been demanding the Research Division cut costs since long before her arrival and it seemed their most recent decision to hire her had been met with protestation.

Grimacing, she approached the intimidating double doors that posed the final obstruction, eyed it with all the suspicion of one who had never quite made peace with the strict education and punishment systems that had made up her childhood.

But there was no delaying the inevitable, and so with only a deep inhale to fortify herself against the unknown, Rhue pushed open the door and greeted the man waiting within.

"Lieutenant McGivers reporting, Admiral, Sir."

She snapped smartly to attention despite the casual state of her clothing. R and D had never emphasized the uniform, and since Marcus had asked for her immediately the dress blues had promptly been forgotten in her rush.

"Ah, good to have you here, Lieutenant." Standing before the large window that overlooked the bustling San Francisco center, Alexander Marcus gestured towards one of the high-backed chairs, "Please, have a seat."

She obeyed him instantly, settling herself with a minimum of hassle. And when he turned back to look at her she returned his gaze with steady resolve.

"Well McGivers, let me be direct." He glanced at her, "You're here because we have a special project and need someone well versed in history to help us avoid any potentially fatal errors."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion, "Sir?"

"Your file says you specialize in the Eugenics War, is this correct?"

"Yes Sir, all six major kingdoms and some of the smaller ones as well." She shifted in her seat, "Was there something in particular you needed answered, Sir?"

There was a flash of a smile on the Admiral's face, "Of a sort, yes, I suppose so."

He moved behind his desk and sat down, "Tell me, Lieutenant. After the end of the Eugenics War what happened to the Augments?"

"Many were killed in uprisings, Princes overthrown by the people, their loyal vassals killed in kind. Those left were incorporated back into society but remained under heavy suspicion for the remainder of their natural lives."

She gestured to herself, "These Augments took nearly two hundred years to die, and by the time World War III ended the last of the 'super' humans had vanished…" she hesitated, "There is however research that suggest there may have been a discrepancy in records of that time."

"What do you mean Lieutenant?"

"There is some proof, nothing substantial of course, but several documents mention a ship filled with Augments departing from Earth shortly after the fall of the Eugenic Principalities. Eighty-four of them, they have never been accounted for."

Rhue looked down at her hands in sudden self-consciousness, "It seems that despite the sad end of their fellows, this group may have been the exception."

"The exception?" Marcus raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, "What sort of exception, McGivers?"

"Most Augments died as a result of the fighting…that much is true. But…" Rhue paused and licked her lips in agitation, "The ship was a sleeper class, lots of storage and outfitted with the most advanced technology they had at the time. Who knows that Augments with enough resources are capable of?"

"And do you know the name of the ship."

Rhue shook her head, "No, most documents only mention the class, never the name. It was a secret I think."

"A secret, yes." The Admiral nodded once before retrieving the tablet that lay face-up on his desk, "Take a look at this, Lieutenant. Tell me what you see."

Taking the offering, Rhue froze as the image came into view. A ship, a _sleeper_ ship with old 20th century rocket boosters lay half imbedded in an icy landscape, the hull pitted with meteor impacts, the words on its side nearly illegible.

"That is the SS Botany Bay, retrieved little over a year ago. We found it frozen on Titan."

"And inside? Sir?" Rhue looked up, eyes huge, "What did you find _inside_?"

The Admiral smiled all the wider as he gestured back to the tablet, "If you would move to the next picture, Lieutenant, I think the image will do more justice than I could."

She hesitated then, paused on the cusp and wondered just what she would be trading to gain such valuable information. But the heart of her, the very soul whispered promises, pointed out that any trade would be worth the price of this particular piece of knowledge.

She moved on to the next image.

"Do you know who that is, Lieutenant?"

Eyes fixed to the screen she didn't look up, _couldn't_ look away. Mesmerized, she traced the digital image with a finger; face a study of immense shock.

"It's impossible."

She could barely make the words, pushed them out on a wheezing breath that shook in her lungs. And when at last she finally managed to drag her attention back to the man seated behind the desk, she took a shuddering breath as she tried to blink away the all-consuming intensity of what she had just seen.

The Admiral smiled, "Let me offer you a proposal…"

She was on a shuttle to Jupiter a scant few hours later, her mind racing, her heart thundering in her chest. And when at last she stood outside the sterile room in which he was being held, she found herself reeling at the events of the past few hours.

There had been a secretary to greet her at the door, had given her an access pass to one of the most secluded bases in Starfleet Space, and welcomed her to Section 31. She felt like laughing, like crying. It felt like she had stepped into an alternate dimension where being a book worm meant you were actually being trained to function as a covert operative. But if this was what four years of History courses at Starfleet meant, Rhue almost didn't want to know what exactly the 'Special Lectures' as the Archives really were.

She had the sinking suspicion she would find out soon enough.

But for now she would focus on this, on _him_. Stepping into the decontamination chamber she changed from civilian clothing to white scrubs, leaving her meager possessions in a special locker as she stepped through to the final room.

It was slightly warmer there, comfortable despite the Spartan furnishings. This was to be his room for the next month, his home until it could be proved he could function in everyday life.

But before he could do that, before he could run through their tests like a rat in a maze, he first had to wake up. And even that would be an ordeal, Starfleet had no proper procedures for dealing with cryogenically frozen people and their first _eleven_ attempts had all failed, though the last one had very nearly made it.

She didn't know if anyone would tell him about the loss, about the deaths of people who had obviously meant something to him. And part of her didn't want to, because it seemed suddenly barbaric that they had failed so spectacularly, had lost so many lives, when humanity had advanced so far past the era of Eugenics.

Either way, he would need to be strong enough to survive what was to come. And though Rhue did not know yet what Admiral Marcus hoped to gain with her presence at this secret lab she was glad for the opportunity all the same.

This was truly a once in a lifetime experience.

And when at last she mustered the courage to cross the room, to stand at the side of that all too quiet glass tube, she found herself caught up in sensation all over again.

Resting her hand against its surface, she looked past the coat of ice and frost, down to where he lay. And with a voice filled in disbelieving wonder she greeted him for the first time.

The first of a lifetime.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Khan."


	4. The Ring

He woke up with the disoriented grogginess that came from heavy sedatives and less than careful measuring. It made sense of course, his human appearance disguised a very different physiology, one that often made for imperfect medical decisions. But he hated their imperfection now as he struggled against the heavy pull of sleep, fought to regain consciousness and control.

Opening his eyes, he fought back a groan of pain as the bright light lanced the delicate tissues of his eyes.

What in the world had the fools given him?

Her flinched reflexively and shut his eyes, counting to ten before he slowly eased his eyes open once more. They watered when at last he got them fully open, but the pain was a manageable one now, controllable.

The door swung open not a moment later as the doctor made his appearance, his identity anonymous behind the standard medical face mask.

"Good Morning, Mr. Harrison."

The doctor greeted him pleasantly, nodding towards his patient as he browsed the information on his tablet. No doubt he had been briefed by someone higher about the _unique_ problem Khan posed.

Not that Khan would have a problem with this man if it came to it. Having taken into account everything in the thirty seconds it had taken the doctor to cross the room, he had observed all he needed to.

They had only bound one hand to the bedframe, a tactical mistake that could certainly prove advantageous if it came to it. Khan had also noted the only partially concealed phaser tucked into the man's back pocket – it would be all too easy to reach it, and its presence was more dangerous to the doctor than Khan himself.

But the other thing he had noticed, the thing he had not expected, was the loop that rested easily around his neck. He hadn't thought they would let him keep it. He touched it to remind himself that they had, and the metal felt warm against his skin.

Such an old custom, giving a ring to the one of your heart's desire. But it was an old fashion that suited him well, perhaps because he was such an old man at heart.

It had been his greatest pleasure to make that commitment, and now it served as the heaviest weight in his chest.

"Do you have any next of kin, Mr. Harrison?"

Khan looked blankly out the window as his hand dropped from the ring.

"I used to have a wife."

* * *

Seven Months Earlier:

It was raining in London.

Pouring, actually, absolutely torrential as it battered people and buildings alike. And it was so absolutely beautiful, so enlivening that for just that moment he felt normal, completely and utterly part of this strange Earth that was now him home.

The rain washed away the tension of the past few days, the blood that only he knew was there on his hands. Marcus was an absolute madman and when that incriminating letter had resulted in a far softer judgment Khan had been sent to make the message clear.

Khan had had to make it look like an accident easily enough, but the distaste of such subterfuge seemed to be lodge rather permanently in his throat.

The Admiral was a man of no honor, and even now the urge to do away with such an abhorrent man beat strongly in his chest. It wasn't just the killing though, Khan pulled the hood of his coat down a little more as he continued to walk, it was Marcus' new interest in weapons, technologies of war.

He had spent all of yesterday discussing the possible designs for a dreadnought-class warship and was supposed to arrive with more ideas tomorrow for another meeting.

Exhaling slowly, he closed his eyes and let the rain do its job, the soft staccato beat of the weather soothing the temper until he could manage it once more.

"John!"

He opened his eyes to find her not a block away, dressed gaily in a bright green raincoat and a pair of black wellies, her hand waving rapidly as she tried to get his attention. Hair caught beneath a hat, small tendrils had escape and lay plastered to her face and neck like crimson ribbons. Never had she looked so lovely.

They met beneath the brightly lit awning of the closest cafe, the one that had quickly become a favorite meeting place.

Breathe swirling like fog in the air, she grinned when he neared, nose pink from the cold.

"I thought that was you!"

Khan smiled pulled his hood down, "I almost didn't recognize you. Where are your glasses?"

It was a lie, but one he told easily, taking pleasure in the way her cheeks brightened in pleasure.

"Oh I only need them for research," she explained as she tugged her hood down in a mirror of his own movement and ruffled her hair until it regained its usual curled mass.

"The small text is too much for my poor eyes. But I could see you just fine."

"You could have them corrected, if you wanted." He pointed out as they head towards the door. They had had corrective eye surgery even in his own era, so it was

Rhue shrugged as she passed him, "What for? The glasses work well enough."

"You liked old, out of fashion, things do you? He smiled as he opened the door for her, but paused to take a look inside. Three individuals and a couple were within, and while the barista seemed a good example of physical strength, no one seemed to pose an immediate threat.

"Yes," she smiled up at him as she passed through the doorway, looking quizzically as he paused to make his second look around the room. "Thank you."

Then, in deference to his holding the door she grinned, "I can appreciate chivalry too."

John matched her smile with a small one of his own, "Of course you can."

They ordered their drinks a moment later, making small talk as they crossed to the pair of seats situated by the merrily roaring fireplace that was the cornerstone of their café experiences.

"Ah, just what I needed."

Humming in pleasure, Khan watched as she luxuriated in the warmth of the fire and eased back to enjoy her drink.

"Another mocha?" He asked the question though he already knew the answer. Rhue was unquestionably a creature of habit, and her decision to drink coffee in _London_ was completely the result of her upbringing in the States.

Indeed, she didn't even bother responding, just grinned before she took another sip of her drink, licking the porcelain lip before taking another savory mouthful.

"Why John, I do believe you've found me out."

"An American in London to the end." He responded blandly though his eyes glittered in amusement, "We really do have to change that."

"Well if it's any consolation," she said, "I did enjoy the fish and chips we had last week."

"That hardly counts," Khan retorted, "That meal was the poorest excuse of fish and chips I have ever had the misfortune to eat."

"I liked it!" She protested, "The breading was great and the chips were hot!"

"The breading was thick enough choke a horse, and the chips were dry."

Grumbling to herself, Rhue took another sip of her drink muttering under her breath, "Food snob."

Khan smiled as he poured his tea, "I heard that."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

He chuckled and brought his tea to his lips, "Touché."

"I do suppose you would know a good fish and chips though," she offered generously after a long moment "You're a proper British man, after all."

"Mmm." He put the cup down, "I'm not actually all that British actually."

"No?" She looked intrigued, "You certainly sound like one."

"I was born in India," He admitted after a moment, "Which given its historical background makes a little bit of sense, but not much."

"Hmm," she seemed to consider his words, "What part of India?"

"The Northern bit."

She smiled then, "You certainly are a surprising man, Mr. Harrison. I never would have guessed."

He quirked an eyebrow her way, "Then it is a good thing you did not have to."

The mocha was sipped with amused consideration, "Indeed."

The door to the café opened not a moment later, and from the curtain of rain stepped a well-dressed man with a briefcase. Khan did not look directly at him, but his instincts prickled as the stranger moved closer. This one was dangerous, it was there, written in the broadness of his shoulder, the easy strength of his arms. No businessman would have need of the calluses on the pads of his fingers, the inside of his palms. Those were the hallmarks of a killer, and Khan didn't think the man needed a weapon to be deadly either.

Not that Khan had a problem with killers, he could hardly fault the man when he himself was so similar. But there was something in the eyes, Khan glanced at his quarry for only a moment, the eyes said more about his temperament than anything else.

Remorseless, the man clearly had no qualms with doing as he was bid.

But then the strangest thing happened, and Khan felt his hackles raise as the blonde's eyes fell on the woman sitting just to Khan's left.

"Rhue!"

He was at her side a moment later, sweeping her up into his arms and she shrieked in delight.

And every objective assessment Khan had made shattered as his feelings congealed into a hatred so fierce it left him temporarily mute.

"Owen!" She was laughing as he swung her around, face a mask of happiness and surprise, "What are you doing here?"

The blond man smiled back as he set her down "Can't a man say hi to his favorite lady?"

And that was when he noticed Khan, or at least, made a show of noticing him. Khan didn't doubt he had been noticed the moment Owen had entered the small shop. And again he felt hatred bloom all the hotter in his chest, driven deeper by how very similar the two men seemed.

"Who's this?"

Khan didn't bother introducing himself, merely turned to Rhue with a pointed look.

"Yes, Marla." He drawled, voice viciously soft, "Who is this gentleman?"

And Khan felt a terrible pleasure in the way she paled, the way her eyes suddenly flickered between them before she finally turned to her companion. Let her panic, a part of him whispered coldly, let her name the parameters of their relationship.

"Owen, I'd like you to meet John, a friend."

Swallowing she turned to Khan, "John, this is Owen, my boyfriend."

The words stung more than Khan would have liked, had thought possible. But then, she had always been the exception to every rule he had ever placed on himself.

Perhaps it was better this way, she had been distraction enough.

Khan stood before he quite knew what he was doing, his face impassive as he made to grab his coat.

"John…"

He ignored the plea in her voice, barely looked at her as he shrugged his coat onto his tall frame. Movements careful, nearly mechanical, it was only when a hand was thrust out to him that he looked up.

Owen, offering his hand, a rueful smile on his face.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, John."

Khan smiled coldly and didn't take the offered hand, "Likewise."

And without another word, he stepped around the couple and disappeared into the rain-soaked night. It hadn't been a pleasure in the slightest, but for a moment, for that precious hour alone with her it had almost felt _right_.

It was a very long time before Khan returned to the café.


	5. The Absence

They let her visit him when he was unconscious, nearly six hours after she had first arrived. Standing in the doorway Rhue knew she should have expected it, but the sight of him lying prone and defenseless on the bed made her heart twist, her chest ache.

It had been a very long time since she had seen him like this, since he had needed her for protection. Not, she amended, that he actually _needed_ her protection, but she vowed to look after him all the same.

"Miss McGivers, would you mind if we take a few tests before we leave you together?"

She shook her head mutely and let the doctors go about their business, checking his heart rate, adjusting the delicate cocktail of drugs and saline that they were pumping into him.

Beckoned forwards at one point, Rhue helped out when directed, holding up his arm, counting the number of inhales and exhales, whatever they asked she did.

And when at last the doctor left, when the door slid quietly shut, she crossed the room to his side. Holding his much larger hand, she marveled at the familiarity of the touch, the warmth of his skin despite the chill of the room.

His face was also exactly as she remembered, all the more real now that he was no longer staring at her from a screen. There were faint lines around his eyes now, like hairline fractures on a porcelain surface, and those were new. But otherwise he looked much as he always had; a picture of human genetics perfected.

She brushed the silky softness of his hair, traced the line of his jaw, allowed herself to finally accept that he was really there. Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, she pressed her ear to his chest and listened to his heartbeat, and the steady thrumming between his lungs was the most beautiful of melodies, the sound of life itself.

And for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Rhue felt happiness, for him, for them both. They were alive.

It was later, when she was settling the blanket more comfortably around his shoulders, that she made her discovery. There against his skin, the cord and its precious pendant, the ring.

Rhue hadn't thought he would still have it, and the realization that he had…

She touched it and agony lanced through her, guilt and pain bloomed with such intensity that it drove the very breath from her lungs.

And though she managed to subdue her tears, to hold them back, her throat tightened and not even her hand pressed to her mouth could stifle her single, solitary whimper.

Because he still had the ring around his neck and around her neck was _nothing_.

* * *

Eleven Months Earlier:

"Welcome back, Miss McGivers."

"Thank you, Katherine." Smiling as she sailed past the secretary, Rhue swiped her badge on the security post and paused for the retinal scan. All these things had since become part of the daily routine, and she took them in stride.

Pulling her sketch book and pencils from her bag, she stowed the remained of her things in her designated locker before heading towards the observation room where she had spent the better part of three weeks.

She had enough sketches to last a lifetime, but every time she found something different about him to draw, an angle she had not considered. Part of her wondered if her drawings were in some sort of security violation, but thus far no one had made it an issue and she was content to continue her work.

Educating the staff of the base had taken all but a week, with reminders sent every few days. Otherwise, the true test of her abilities would come when Khan finally woke.

He had pulled through the defrost process without issue but had remained in a coma in the weeks following.

"McGivers!"

She heard the steady sound of footsteps and turned to find one of the doctors running after her, his expression eager.

"Hello Calvin, is there news?"

"Is there!"

Rhue grinned as he flapped his arms wildly as he spoke, he looked positively bright eyed and bushy-tailed and the energy was infectious.

"He's finally woken up!"

There was no need to qualify who _he_ was as there was only one man who was the current center of her universe and it was not her boyfriend Owen.

Rhue and Calvin entered the observation room not a moment later, twin expressions of curious excitement on their faces. And after the initial tests were done, Rhue was allowed in, for the first and last meeting she would be allowed with the subject.

With Khan.

He looked at her with blurry eyes when she entered, his expression a cross between confusion and deep-rooted suspicion. It was to be expected given his background, and Rhue took it in stride.

"Hello, John."

She sat down across from him, giving him his space, trying to make herself as unthreatening as possible. There were certain protocols she had to follow, and introducing him to his new alias was one of the first priorities.

She waited until he had settled himself before she repeated herself.

"My name is _Khan_." He spoke with the haughty might of one who was used to giving orders, of directing armies.

His voice was deeper than she had expected, husky almost as it sank into her very bones. Dangerous, her mind warned, the man's voice was as hypnotic as a snake. Rhue swallowed at the comparison, acknowledging its truth for truly this man was as dangerous as one too.

"It is important, for your safety and others that you are known as John."

"Where is my family?" He ignored her, asked her the questions he cared to have answered.

"Do you understand what I've told you, John?" Her continued resistance to his orders would frustrate if not entirely infuriate him, but the Eugenics war had left an imprint on him that needed to be cleaned up as much as possible if he had any hope of functioning in the present day Earth.

"My name is _Khan_ ," There was a deadly seriousness in his voice, in his expression, "I will not say it again."

He did not need to make threats, and that too was part of who and what he was.

"My name is Marla," Rhue offered instead, "I'm a -"

"My crew." He ground out, hands clenching as he grew angrier, "Where. Are. They?"

She remained quiet, would continue to do so until either he tried to force it out of her or until he accepted her terms for what they were.

He sprang to his feet then, towering over her menacingly.

"Now!"

He was an imposing figure, tall and forbidding with his dark hair and ice-cold gaze. Men of power often were terrifying in their own way. But Rhue had spent nearly five years studying him to the exclusion of all others, she _knew_ him about as well as anyone could hope to.

Selfish and self-absorbed were to be expected, egotistical came with the territory, but she knew he was above all else a very intelligent man. And she could only hope that he would be made to understand the gravity situation without violence, a result that might only come through careful instruction.

Oh but it was difficult to treat him with cool disinterest when he was the man she had read so much about with such deep rooted passion.

His eyes darkened from delicate Cambridge blue to a dark Prussian not a moment later and for a terrified, crazy second Rhue wondered if maybe he could read minds. Indeed it almost seem likely as he smiled at her then, a lazy sort of half-smile that made her heart beat all the faster.

"You find me attractive."

It wasn't a question, and Rhue swallowed hard.

Mentally fumbling, she forced herself to

"That doesn't matter one way or another," Rhue responded candidly though her stomach quivered at the look in his eyes. She added the last bit just to return their footing to neutral ground, "John."

His eyes narrowed then, "Fine. I am _John_ ," he spat the name out with distaste, "Now where is my crew?"

She smiled, "I really have no idea."

And though he went silent for a moment, stilled until he seemed more statue than man, his words were those of a very passionate, very _living_ person.

" _Get out_."

The words were uttered with a flatness that bellied a great rage; she could see it in the slight tremor of his hands, the only motion on his otherwise stone-smooth façade. But when she failed to listen to him, failed to _obey_ , that was when he acted.

She had almost forgotten he was a warrior as much as a prince and his anger when acted upon was instant, absolute and entirely encompassing. His hand had grasped the delicate glass cup before she could say another word, the object hurled across the space with such speed that it very nearly cracked the mirrored window that served as portal to the observation room.

Next followed the small vase, aimed at that same spot in the window.

Until the mirror finally did crack.

But though he raged, though he threw the glass of water and tore through the dozen other small objects in the room never once did he raise a hand towards her nor make her a target of his rage.

"McGivers." The communicator in her ear buzzed as she was hailed, "Time to get out of there Lieutenant."

Part of her protested that her meeting was cut so short, that the time she has so been looking to spending had now all but disappeared. But there was that small part of her that quivered in fear, a part of her that eyed the ferocity of Khan's actions and trembled.

She stood up, slowly so as not to surprise him and like the predator he was, he noted her with an attentive stillness. Eyes, nearly silver in the cool white of the room, followed her until she could touch the door. Rhue could see his throat work, as if he meant to say something, but as the door slid open with a soft hiss, he stopped trying.

Still, she paused a few minutes longer, waiting for Khan, for _John_ , to say something as she tried to commit his face to memory. And as she glanced at that face for a final time, she felt a sudden flutter in her chest and with it the first betrayal of every emotion she had thought exclusive to Owen.

"Goodbye, John."

Standing where he was, every muscle rigid, he turned away from her at the last minute, dismissed her with the grace of a king. But just before the door slid shut, he surprised her, and his low voice echoed easily in the silence.

"Goodbye Marla."

She would remember his face for many months afterwards, would recall with startling clarity the thrill of his surprising goodbye, the brightness of his eyes as he watched her go. And when they met once more, this time as strangers, she would realize that in many ways he had not changed. For all of Starfleet's conditioning, Khan would never truly be 'John' and for them to ever believe otherwise would be a miscalculation on their part, one with very serious consequences.

But, for now, her work at the Jupiter base was done. And until Marcus called upon her once more, she would return to the research department, to her little lab and paintings.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye, guys."

She smiled as she pulled the tie out of her hair, walked to her locker and began to empty it of her possessions, "I'd love to hear about your progress but I have a feeling it'll confidential."

Calvin grinned as he looked up from his tablet, "It is one of the drawbacks of our line of work, McGivers. But if it makes you feel any better, the time we're done with him it'll be like you're dealing with a different person entirely."

The words alarmed her, and Rhue looked up in shock, "Really?"

"Yeah," Calvin looked chagrined, "Admiral's orders, drug cocktails and behavioral adjustments. It'll make him more manageable, more likely to provide Starfleet whatever it

"But that's completely unethical." Rhue turned to look at the man behind the mirror, the prince turned pauper.

"I really don't think Section 31 or the Admiral cares too much about ethics."

"But what about what happened today?" She asked, hands clutching her bag, "He didn't hurt anyone. He's not a bad person. I could stay on, maybe if he got to know me…"

"He won't remember you after today;" the scientist, a woman named Genie, told her gently, "The drug treatments starts in six hours."

Marla fell into stricken silence.

"This is why the Admiral wanted you out of here today." Calvin smiled sadly, as he patted her arm, "You're a soft heart, McGivers. It was only a matter of time before you started seeing him as a person rather than a tool."

It was strange hearing those words from a man who was otherwise so warm and kind. Rhue half wondered if maybe this was how Starfleet Intelligence worked and she had only thought them different because to some degree she was just a visitor, another low-level mission that all the other agents had to deal with for the month that she was around.

Well the mission was clearly over, and the reality of the situation was nauseating, and so very inhumane.

"But he _is_ a person." Rhue protested, "You can't just...'"

She trailed off; feeling helpless as Calvin gently propelled her out of the observation room and walked with her down the hall towards the shuttle bay.

They had gone not more than ten feet when he paused, eyes darting as he subtly pulled her aside, finding a small cove to talk.

"Calvin?"

"I need you to look into your bag like you've just realized you are missing something." He spoke the words under his breath, as he crossed his arms.

And as Rhue began to do as he asked, she kept her ears open for what she knew to be his true intent.

"I am part of a group of interested individuals, people who know what it means to be perceived as dangerous because of who and what they are."

Glancing up at him for a moment, Rhue turned back to her purse with a frown as the small hairbrush she had been holding tumbled to the ground.

"What do you mean?"

"The Augments that survived the Eugenics Wars had children, just as any normal human being might," Calvin said quietly, as he handed her the brush, "Hundreds of years and generations of children don't make those gifts any less present in their offspring."

And that's when she understood.

"You have a family member?" There was no stopping the slight awe in her voice, the tinged ring of jealousy.

The doctor smiled faintly, gestured to the lab, "Several of us do."

"Then you won't let the Admiral hurt him?"

Calvin smiled sadly, "I don't know that we can do too much. He _will_ get the drug treatments, and the behavioral testing is not something we can get around. But –"

He looked at her then, _really_ looked at her.

Rhue swallowed, "Yes?"

"Find him," His words were suddenly desperate, "After all of this is over, find him and help set him free."

It was more than she expected, and honestly more than she thought she was capable of. Rhue shook her head.

"I don't know. Shouldn't you just talk to him about this?"

"He would never trust us. And I know you will, if just because you care about him enough to try."

A small smile then, a trusting one flickered across his face before he continued, "You won't be alone, not really. We'll send you whatever information we can."

"But what makes me so special?"'

And that was when Calvin smiled, a bright sunny smile that reminded her of their month working together.

"Because you are the first person in a very long time that has looked at us, at Augments, and seen human beings not tools. I know you'll do everything in your power

"I don't have much power to speak of." Rhue said softly.

The doctor smiled, "You're just saying that because you don't know any better."

And then he was moving, leading her once more to where the shuttle was waiting. He said no more on the matter and, for all of her questions, Rhue remained silent too.

In the end it would be her choice that much was clear.

Her decision was made when two months later with the arrival of the first encrypted message.

She transferred to London, and not a week later ran into a very familiar face.

A man who called himself John.


	6. The Other Man

He isn't alone.

Instinct told him even before he had fully risen from sleep, that there was someone there on his right. A person yes, but were they a threat?

There's a flutter of movement, a feather-light shift that emphasizes the small hand that's now wrapped around his larger one. And that's when he hears it.

A sigh, soft and low, he knows then who it is the moment that quiet exhale reaches his ears. And though a hundred small memories threaten to submerge him once more in the inky abyss of sleep, the realization that _she_ is next to him is a prize worth waking for. And as her hand tightens ever so slightly, the feel of it is compelling enough to make his eyes open, light blue irises framing the pupils that focus so intently on her sleeping form.

What was she doing here?

There's a pain in his chest, a sort of frightened hoping that he's trying desperately to keep contained. And it's a struggle to do so as his chest shudders with a sort of maddening mix of relief and sharp terror.

"Marla?"

His voice is hoarse from disuse, from too many hours sleeping off pain killers that do nothing for a body as finely tuned as his own. And though he is sluggish as he rolls to his side, has to pause for several long seconds to finally feel like himself again, he managed to inch ever closer to where she is resting.

He's never let go of her hand, not once. And it is a relief that it feels so warm, so vibrantly alive when all else in this room has been reduced to cool sterility.

"Marla."

He's nearly level with her face now, can see the dark purple beneath her eyes, the exhaustion that has her sleeping so deeply that even his less-than-graceful movements cannot shake. And though he wishes she would hurry up and open her lovely eyes, for her long lashes to flutter open, part of him hesitates.

They had parted in the worst sort of way, and he wonders if he really wants to know what she will say when she finally does open her eyes. He already knows his first words will be an apology.

* * *

Six Weeks and Two Months Earlier:

"John!"

He was walking again, walking as was his habit. Easy strides carried by his long legs, he moved with speed even at his most relaxed, unhurried pace. It usually meant he could get to wherever he was going in a decent amount of time, without the need of the more high-tech modes of transportation available. But as he heard his name called out again there was no avoiding the internal flicker of anger and irritation he directed at himself.

It felt like a betrayal, and this time he had been betrayed by his own body.

Or maybe it was that Khan was feeling betrayed by the man who now lived as _John_.

He had known, intellectually, that walking by the Archives on his way home was likely to increase his chances of running into her. And yet he can continued to walk by whenever he could, his lazy canter giving him all too much time to wonder at his own action.

He had _known_ he would run into her.

So why had he bothered?

When so much of his irritation stemmed from their meeting nearly two weeks ago at that coffee shop, what had made him continue on such a stupid course of action?

He was insane, clearly.

"John, please!"

Closing his eyes for a moment, Khan exhaled, willing himself not to turn and look at her. It wouldn't have made a difference in any case. He already knew what she was wearing, has used a combination of peripheral vision and the multitude of reflective buildings to identify her even as he crossed the street to escape.

And it had infuriated him that she had looked so soft, so pretty in that dress and coat, with her hair curling at the ends. No doubt she was planning on meeting her boyfriend later.

Khan glowered at the thought and stepped a little faster, legs eating up the sidewalk beneath him.

Stupid, stupid man, he chastised as he turned down the street, tucking his coat around him more thoroughly. What had he been expecting?

She was running now, he could hear it in the near-frantic beat of shoes on pavement. It echoed in the otherwise empty street, her sharp gasps of breath cutting the air.

"John." She appeared at the edge of his vision for a split second before she lagged again, "Please."

And like the traitor it was, his body slowed down.

_John_ slowed down.

Khan grit his teeth in irritation.

"John, please. I feel like you've been freezing me out."

"I have."

He didn't bother looking at her, didn't stop walking. Stopping would accommodate her, accommodate the weakness of her own human body and he _refused_ to do that again. Damn her, but he didn't want to do that again, not when she made his mind weak with thoughts of her.

"I don't understand you at all." He spoke the words on the end of a low growl, and angry tirade to both her and himself.

She huffed a little with the effort to keep up, "What do you mean?"

"You have a boyfriend."

"Yes."

Neither could deny the truth of the statement, but Khan couldn't quite understand why she would continue to follow him. It made no sense, but maybe she too found herself pulled by a traitorous body. The thought gave him no comfort, and he loathed his own weakness all the more for it.

"Then _why_ are you bothering me?"

He paused then, rounded on her with all the speed and grace of one of superior genetics. She stopped short on a sputter, and he watched as she bent in half, trying to catch her breath.

Cheeks pink, eyes shut in concentration she never saw the brief smirk of amusement on his lips. It was gone by the time she had reopened her eyes.

"What can I do to prove that I'm serious?"

She was smaller, slighter, than him by at least a foot. But as she met his gaze, held steady against his anger and cool fury, she seemed his equal in all things.

"Serious about what?"

He asked the question with bland disinterest.

"About you," Rhue paused before clarifying, "About being here for you as a friend."

Khan sniffed, "Friends?"

The word was not one he had heard for some time. Even in his own time there had been little talk of friendship, instead there had been vassals and the bonds of loyalty. His family, his most treasured followers, had been there to support him, to aid him in his quest for supreme control. But ultimately the throne had stood alone.

There had been no one to equal him, not physically, no intellectually. And life had worked well despite the isolation.

Marla's offer of friendship was more presumptuous, more loathsome than most offers he had received since waking. In many ways it reminded him too much of Marcus' belief that _he,_ the Admiral, was Khan's equal and that was an unforgivable insult.

But as she continued to watch him, her expression open, completely unaware of the implication of her request, Khan realized that to her the offer was made without artifice.

Instead of Marcus who believed he could somehow equal the sort of man Khan was, Marla was content in offering herself up not as an equal but as a participant in a relationship where they would both learn.

It was all there, in the anxious smile, in the way her cheeks still shone pink from her earlier exertions. She cared to be his friend because she wanted to be there for him, whether or not he actually needed her.

It was more than he could have asked for.

"Just friends?" He asked quietly, watching her as she absorbed her question.

He didn't wait for her to finish, wasn't sure what sort of reply he preferred to hear. Instead he grabbed her by the arm as he took off again down the street. But this time he checked his speed, slowed to account for her shorter legs, the dainty shoes on her feet. And together they spent the day exploring London.

It was some time later, as they sat down on a bench nursing yet another order of fish and chips that Khan came to admit, if not exactly accept, that for all of his anger, his irritation, there seemed nothing he could do against this one woman.

Turning to look at her, he couldn't quite stop the small smile that came with watching her dig into the hot basket of chips, taking pleasure in the delight she found in so simple a meal. And yet, it was also unsettling, worrying that he could find so much peace, so much familiarityand comfort, with a woman who was still in many ways a stranger.

That she leaned against him so comfortably, head settling against his shoulder, made him wonder at the way his stomach tightened in twin sensations of pleasure and discomfort.

"Sometimes I feel like we've met before."

The admission was out of his mouth before he could censor the thought, yet another betrayal by the body that he has grown to love and hate in equal measure. Khan would never have admitted to such a thing, but _John…_

He looked down to see her eyes had come up to meet his once more. Large and luminous in the late-day sun, she seemed to see straight into him.

"Like déjà vu?" She asked her question quietly, carefully.

"No, something else."

He couldn't quite put his finger on it and it frustrated him. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder seemed a comfort to them both, a natural reaction on his part, _John's_ part.

Khan's mind on the other hand was all too quick to point out the ways in which he might turn the friendly gesture into an act of war.

"John?"

For a moment he wonders if she can see just how confused he is, how very much it feels like two people inhabiting a singular body. But instead of answering her right away he looked to the river. Smooth despite the churning power of all that water, he used it to steady himself, to calm the chaos that always seemed to sing just beneath the surface.

"It is the strangest thing that I feel like this." John finally responds the question, not Khan, and it feels so natural to admit to the confusion, "It makes no sense and yet…"

"Maybe it's because we have." She doesn't look at him and he does not look at her, but there is a hesitation as her comment hangs like a tantalizing clue, a suggestion.

It disappears with his easy dismissal, the barest shake of his head, "We have not."

"Are you so sure?"

Her question is spoken with uneven tone, so unlike her that it makes him pause and look at her with new eyes.

"Rhue?"

She has captured his attention in its entirety, has his interest tied to her in a hundred different ways for a thousand other reasons, but her next question makes his awareness sharpen to a razor's edge.

"Why don't you come back to my apartment?"

And though John smiles at the invitation, _Khan_ wonders for the first time if Marla McGivers is perhaps more than she lets on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I wanted to make a very clear distinction between John and Khan as two sides of a single coin.
> 
> As I was writing I kept finding that I would mentally refer to 'John' when writing the developing relationship with Marla and 'Khan' would appear whenever there was any suspicion or tension between himself and the new situation he found himself in. I figure that as the story progresses the line between these two facets will eventually disappear - but at least for this chapter I tried to show the internal struggle faced by this complex character.
> 
> Just a little bit of author-y thought process, let me know if that would be something you would be interested in exploring more!


	7. The Painting

She wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing. Indeed every sensible part of her that she had lost it.

_What could she possibly gain with this visit? What did she hope to achieve?_

In any case it was too late to change her mind now. Looking just over her shoulder she could see his head bobbing over the crowd as he easily wove his way through. Steady, measured, he kept pace with her as she slowly snaked through the city towards her apartment.

Darkness was already creeping over London, and by the time they arrived at her building the world was tinged a deep purple. It should have signaled an end of day, a quieting. But still the city pulsed onwards, beating with the lives of its millions of occupants. Distantly, Rhue could hear the high pitched whine of emergency sirens, could almost sense the wake of air that the shuttles displaced as they flew just overhead.

"We are here?"

John's voice was at once curious and suspicious. And though his expression conveyed only the latter, as he turned from the building to face her there was the hint of a smile on his lips.

The sight of it made Rhue's heart beat that much faster in her chest. Caught between the silvery shadow of night and the gold of old city lamps he looked very much as she imagined him, a man caught between two worlds. Old and new, she could still see the way he lingered over this existence, the way he would pause every time something new managed to surprise him.

He did so when she keyed into the apartment's inner lobby.

"Retinal scans were notoriously insecure back where I lived."

She couldn't glance away from the scanner but asked, "In India?"

"Yes."

His remark made her smile though it also said a lot more about the brutality of the Eugenics War. It was not mentioned in any textbook, but Rhue could readily imagine why eye-scans would prove easily fooled.

"They just installed these new ones," She looked at the offered security picture and glanced at the objects in the order she had designated for her security code, "It's a little harder to fool these ones, I think."

The door swung open when she confirmed the last of the images, and though she said nothing, John caught the door, held it open until she had entered.

"Harder to fool?" He didn't sound even remotely convinced, "I would hope so, for your sake."

Rhue said nothing, but smiled as she led the way up two flights of stairs and down a brightly lit hallway. Her apartment complex may not have been the most modern or luxurious of abodes, but it was clean, well kept, and had an unmistakable charm that had won her over from the first.

Perhaps she truly was in love with all things historic.

Sliding the old-fashioned key into the equally antiquated lock, Rhue paused for secondary ID scans to complete before she opened the door.

"Welcome to my humble abode."

Arms spread wide, she walked into the modest foyer and opened her coat closet.

"Can I take your coat?"

Trying to be polite, Rhue paused for a moment before clarifying, "It tends to get pretty warm in here."

John deposited his lovely mercury colored coat in her closet a moment later, another smile on his lips as he very purposely circumvented her offer.

"You know, I _am_ capable of putting coats away."

Grousing as she moved from foyer to kitchen, she waited until he ducked his head in, before adding, "I am _also_ capable of boiling water. Would you like some tea?"

He merely nodded once before disappearing down the hall, dark hair nearly brushing the ceiling. It would have been funny if Rhue hadn't been caught up in preparing the small tray with mugs and biscuits.

The next few minutes were passed in companionable silence as she went from kitchen to living room, straightening pillows and folding blankets while John poked around her guest bedroom, bathroom and whatever small corners were busy collecting dust.

Not, she told herself, that there was any dust to be seen, but he was a most curious man.

Indeed, it wasn't until he attempted to open her studio door that he ran into any trouble.

"Rhue, the studio door is locked."

Smiling knowingly, Rhue took the angrily screeching kettle and pours its contents into the pair of mugs on the tray, "I know."

He appeared a second later, his large strides carrying him into the living room where he settled himself, expression thoughtful.

"Why?"

Rhue appeared with the tray a moment later.

"Why is it locked? Or why is it that I know it is locked?"

He scowled as she deliberately played obtuse. Still, he accepted his mug with a polite 'thank you' and took an appreciative sip of his drink without pressing her further.

"Why is the door locked?"

He tried his question again after several minutes, this time bolstered by several biscuits and half his tea.

"Because I lock it after I use it." Rhue's eyes sparkled with amusement, "There are important artist discoveries being made in there. I can't have people stealing my secrets."

He didn't seem to know how to deal with her humor, and he sat there for a long moment before speaking up again.

"Are you a professional?"

This time she grinned, "A professional hobbyist maybe."

"You paint."

"A bit."

"Oil?"

"No, well sometimes." She nodded towards of artwork on her wall, "Watercolor and sketches mostly."

Then she paused, as something dawned on her. "How did you know it was the door to my studio?"

This time it was John who smiled.

"No matter how much ventilation a room has, the smell of linseed oil tends to linger."

"Which is why you thought I pained in oil." Rhue leaned back, pleased with his answer, "Well done, you're a regular Sherlock Holmes."

He scoffed, "In another life maybe."

John leaned back and took another long drink. But instead of speaking again he seemed content in looking around. Rhue, for her part, was enjoying doing the same. There was something so very novel in his presence, at having 'Khan' seated in her living room, a guest.

Perhaps childhood dreams did come true, no matter how strange.

Or, she amended somewhat ruefully, perhaps the stranger the better. She had yet to meet anyone else who had wanted to meet a Eugenics Prince as a child.

The phone rang then, disrupting the easy quiet that had fallen over the two.

Jerking upright, Rhue made to grab for the phone only to find it materialize in John's hand.

"John!"

Hissing at him, she shot to her feet. He merely gave her that infuriatingly arrogant smile before he took the call intended for her.

"Hello?"

His voice was a husky whisper, a sensual brush to the senses.

And though anger had initially spurred her to actions, Rhue found herself caught between wanting to listen to him talk and wanting to relieve him of the phone that he had stolen.

"Ah yes, I remember you. Hello Owen."

Her decision solidified in that second, and Rhue made a grab for the phone, this time with success.

"Owen?"

Pushing her hair out of her eyes as she sat down, Rhue looked over her shoulder to see John watching her with interest, light blue eyes bright.

"Rhue?"

Owen's voice, sharp and suspicious tugged her attention back to the phone.

"Yes I'm here."

She heard her boyfriend sigh.

"Do I need to ask why he's picking up your phone?"

"He's nosey."

She heard John snort in amusement, and Owen seemed to take her comment as a joke rather than the truth it was.

"Rhue."

She could almost see him get angry.

"He's here for business."

"Since when do you hold business meetings at your apartment?" He challenged, well and truly mad."

"Since there was nowhere else I could talk without being listened to."

"Oh so it's a secret now is it?"

Rhue had confided in Owen about her stint in Section 31 following his admitting that he too had been in the employ of Starfleet's shadowy security branch. They had bonded over their mutual conflict, had spent many hours sharing and growing closer. But where Rhue had been able to leave, to walk away and begin anew as a teacher, Owen had been scarred by his encounter. Angry and confused, he had left to join a private security firm and spent many weeks out of contact as a result.

His distance had worried her, his anger had made her pause.

She had never told him about the other Augments, or the emails she was now receiving with increasing frequency. That was her own secret, her own burden.

"It's not a secret, Owen. But it wasn't something to just advertise either."

"I'm sure."

His words were curt, mocking and then silent as he cut their connection.

"Great."

Sighing, Rhue closed her eyes as she set the phone in her lap.

"Problems?" John's too innocent question grated on her nerves and she took several steady breaths before she trusted herself to speak.

"Remember how you said it felt like we had met before? That you felt like you knew me?"

The man beside her grew still, his face slipping behind an impenetrable mask.

"Well we haven't met…before," Rhue swallowed past the lie, "But I do know who you are. Who you _really_ are."

The silence that followed was tense, near deafening as nothing and no one moved. Indeed, even Khan found himself taken aback. Caught between lying, which he hated with a passion, or admitting the truth he found himself at an unwinnable crossroads.

But as he looked at her, at that unquestioned sweetness, Khan wondered if she truly knew the danger she was getting herself into with her easy comment. Indeed, she had proven time and again to be a straightforward creature, but was she strong enough, smart enough to deal with the consequences that came with dealing with _Khan_?

She had to be bluffing, and he would be damned before he allowed himself to make her a target. He never wanted Marcus to know about her.

"You must be mistaken," Smiling tightly, John gently lowered his empty mug to the table, "My name is John Harrison; I've been a member of Starfleet for nearly six months."

He spoke the words slowly, with all the careful precision of one who had memorized and recited the words a thousand times as they try to convince themselves of the truth. But there was something else, a tension that had his throat working, his hands curling into fists.

_Was he afraid of telling her? Why was he lying?_

Part of her ached as he told her that fabricated story. She could still recall the angry prince back on Jupiter station and never before had that man and her guest seemed so removed from one another. _That_ man would have never have lied; Khan would have spoken his heritage with pride, with arrogance.

But as she watched John, her heart ached, for him, because he was so clearly torn.

She blamed Marcus, had always believed him wrong. But for the first time she truly _hated_ the Admiral, with more hatred than she realized she possessed. The man was soulless for doing this to another person, for diminishing a man who was easily his better.

"Ok then," she swallowed her hurt and pressed him "Where were you born?"

They continued like this for several minutes, each answer a painful lie that made them both suffer. And when she couldn't stand the agony another second she stood up. He stopped in an instant, looking as unhappy as she did.

"Rhue?"

She didn't look at him, but gently took his hand, tugged it until he stood up. And as she slowly pulled him around the coffee table, down the hall, she said not a word.

She let her studio speak for her.

It was larger than he might have expected, airy despite the otherwise modest size of the rest of her apartment. Dominated on two sides by large windows, the third was covered by a bookshelf that sagged with the number of books she had there.

On the empty walls were paintings and sketches, some large, some small, all of them rendered with meticulous attention. Landscapes mostly, a few of London, many more of San Francisco. But here and there were images he recognized from _his_ time, of India and the kingdom that had been his home. It confused him as much as her skill, her artistry amazed.

"You _are_ an artist."

He told her honestly, impressed for the first time since waking, and Rhue couldn't quite help the smile on her face as her ego swelled ever so slightly. She'd never really considered what she did a true talent which was why she practiced so much. But painting made her happy, drawing kept her balanced.

"What are these?"

She looked up in time to see the drawing pad in his hands, the sketchbook from Jupiter Station. Panicking through trying her best to appear otherwise she gestured to the canvas.

"I think you'll find your answer there."

And though she knew the canvas she had concealed beneath her painter's rag would raise more questions, so too would it help her answer the most important question. Thus, when his hands drifted away from the sketches and towards the painting, it was with mixed emotion that she allowed the painting its grand reveal.

Slowly, the cloth fell away, revealing first as dark splash of navy, a delicate whorl of lightest blue, and then the pale tan of skin, of _flesh._

She had started to work on the painting after Jupiter. Sleepless nights and restlessness had driven her to her studio, and when the careful thoughtfulness of watercolor had left her nothing but frustrated, she had turned to oil paint.

Vibrant, thick and tactile, it had provided her the medium her heart had yearned for. Mixing, thinning, correcting errors with the boldness of reckless abandon, she had submerged herself in that singular image for days and countless nights.

Even now she could remember the image that had haunted, that last memory of him on Jupiter Station. The picture of him she had held in her mind as she painted.

_"Goodbye Marla_."

She had been a woman possessed, and her painting revealed it all, though she doubted he would be able to tell.

"Is that-?"

He turned from the canvas, his face a myriad of emotions. And though he couldn't quite find the words, his face says it all as his brows lift, in confusion, in fear.

And for the first time in a very long time, John found himself comforted by the simple touch of a hand on his arm, a gentle squeeze.

"It's you, _Khan_."

Her words are scarcely more than a whisper, but her eyes are bright.

And though he still seemed so lost, the arms that wrap around her, the shudder of breath in his lungs tell her that her gift was enough.

"How did you know?"

His voice was muffled because his face was pressed into her hair, but she heard him clearly enough. And though her explanation was less truthful than it should have been, she could not help but be glad that he now knew.

"You look just like your picture in the history books."

He didn't have to feel alone any longer.


End file.
